


Deja vu

by afterhoursfiction



Series: Rocket Dreams [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: AU where alchemy doesn't exist, Angst, Brotherly Love, Edward goes Big brother hard mode, Gen, Supernatural Elements, also in the later 1900s, au where alfons shows up as a doppelganger of al, this is a really weird au and sequel no one expects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 19:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15802965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterhoursfiction/pseuds/afterhoursfiction
Summary: Sometimes intuition is a memory, the ashes of a previous life. Edward Elric sees a double of his brother — a doppelganger existence that can only be a premonition of death. All he knows is that he can't let Al die.





	Deja vu

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Title changed from 'Sixth sense' to 'Deja vu' 
> 
> First off I know this is a weird idea but I'm really fond of paranormal themes and once the thought of 'writing CoS Alfons as a doppelganger of Alphonse and the implications' came to my mind, it just won't leave so this was born.
> 
> Important differences to note in this AU is: Alchemy + all the human transmutation stuff doesn't exist/happen, only that Trisha passed away and Hoenheim is an Away dad so Ed and Al still have their limbs/bodies and just live by themselves. This fic is also set in the later 1900s, about 40-50 years after the original fma time. It occurs as a sequel to turbulent nature but can also be read as a standalone since it mostly just occurs in a later timeline and references a few lines and scenes also present in the CoS movie.

He’s different in ways that only Edward could feel. The features are identical — blond hair parted to the side, round eyes and even a faint mole on his jaw. But Edward knows that he’s not Alphonse. Not his little brother Alphonse, anyway.

\---

Edward plucks a book from the shelf, flipping it open as he considers it. If he borrows this too, that would be six books for the month. He could finish it — he  _ knows _ he can, but maybe six books is a bit of a stretch. That’s...what, one book every five days? And there’s his work at the lab to consider, too.

Process of elimination then, he thinks, laying out the books on the shelf.

_ The Great East: Xingnese culture and life _

So far, he’d read about the south and west. It only made sense to pick up something on the east, too. Besides, he’s always been interested in how life was on the other side of the desert.

_ Astrophysics: Theories and findings _

Okay, Edward admits that he had picked up that one on a whim. He had watched a documentary with Alphonse last night about the first rocketship and it had piqued his interest. Now he flips through the book lazily and sighs, slamming it shut before returning it to the shelf. Edward was a biochemist, not a physicist, and certainly not a rocket scientist.

As he stacks the remaining selection into his arms, Edward spies Alphonse across the shelf.

“Hey Al,” he hisses. “I’m gonna go check out my books first so I’ll see you outside, ‘kay?”

No answer. Edward huffs,  _ typical _ . His stupid brother probably heard it, but was too engrossed to spare him a look.

 

Outside, Edward hears hurried footsteps and turns just in time to meet his brother’s glare.

“Geez bro, you could’ve told me you were leaving! I was waiting for you and you just left!”

“What?” Edward frowns, affronted. “I  _ told _ you I was leaving, but you weren’t listening or something! Anyway, you could’ve called out to me.”

“Yea, and get us kicked out of the library for good?” Alphonse flushes. The embarrassing memory of being scolded by the librarian for making too much noise swims to Edward’s mind.

_ We weren’t even that loud _ , he thinks petulantly.

“So the librarian hates you, and only me by extension,” Alphonse continues, falling into step beside Edward.

“Hey, I’m a perfectly likeable person!” Edward squawks.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Alphonse retorts with a roll of his eyes.

\---

A week later, Edward is cleaning up the lab alone. He’d been thinking of going back to school again. It’s what had spurred them to move to the city five years ago - universities that Resembool just didn’t have. But Alphonse was the only one who enrolled, while Edward eventually landed a job as a lab assistant.

He scratches his ponytail. Well, it was just the way things turned out.

Edward can almost make those diagnoses himself; he’s not dumb, and his colleagues had said so themselves. He just needs a damned paper, otherwise he’s stuck running menial tests.

Edward sighs, wiping down the counter. Alphonse is probably starting on dinner, so he should make his way home soon if he didn’t want it to eat it cold.

Edward begins to remove his coat when he catches sight of an unbelievably familiar silhouette.

“Al?” Edward calls, incredulous. “Heck, you nearly scared me. What are you doing here?”

There’s no answer. Edward frowns. Alphonse doesn’t have an access card - he shouldn’t be able to enter. But his brother does know some of his colleagues, and maybe was able to borrow one to surprise Edward or something.

Edward had already turned out half the lights but even then, he was certain it could only be Al in the corner of the room, turned toward the windows.

“Alphonse?” Edward tries again, stepping closer.

“How did you know my name?”

It’s not Alphonse. Edward knows this even though the man has the same blond hair, the same mole on his jaw and the same round eyes that look so much like their mother’s.

His chest goes cold.

There’s quirk in the man’s lips; a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes at all. The light that should have been in Alphonse’s eyes is dimmed, and he looks older.

It can’t be Alphonse.

“What’s wrong?”

Something feels deeply unsettling in his gut, and instinct tells him to go - to run away from this man with his brother’s face. But he can’t move, can’t even tear his eyes away.

“You’re not him,” Edward croaks weakly.

The man smiles.

“Are you sure you should be staying this late?”

_ Dinner, _ Edward distantly remembers. He jerks his head around to the clock on the wall.

When he turns back, the man is gone.

“The hell…?” Edward mutters. 

His arms and legs are stiff, prickling with pins and needles. How long had it been? Edward shakes his head, changing out of his lab coat quickly. He turns out the lights and locks up in a haste.

Alphonse would be home, and everything would be alright.

He ignores the way his heart kicks into a rapid rhythm and how his palms are growing cold with sweat.

 

“Bro, you’re late,” Alphonse says as soon as Edward opens the door.

His brother appears soon after, head poking out from the kitchen.

The Alphonse that was his brother.

Relief washes over him, and Edward walks over and ruffles Alphonse’s hair.

“Sorry, got stuck cleaning up some stuff,” He says, leaning over Alphonse’s shoulder to peer at the pot. “What’s for dinner?”

“Stew,” Alphonse responds. He frowns when Edward turns and meets his eyes. “Bro, you okay?”

“Huh?” Edward blinks, startled. Then he sighs, shooting Alphonse a wry smile. “Yea, just tired.”

“Then go get showered, you sorta smell.”

Edward gapes, offended.

“I don’t, you’re just saying that to hurt my feelings!”

Alphonse laughs, and it’s contagious enough that Edward follows. The fear ebbs, slowly.

 

They’ve been sharing this apartment since they had moved to Central. It’s a lot smaller compared to their home in Resembool, but Edward likes it here. They each have a small room, but with the doors open it’s easy to talk across the house. There’s just enough chairs at the table for both of them, so they don’t think to miss the presence of their late mother, or their father who rarely shows even his face.

“This stew is good, you’ve improved!” Edward remarks.

“I tried adding more milk actually,” Alphonse says. Then adds, rather childishly, “I thought it might help you grow.”

Edward makes a face. Alphonse grins triumphantly.

“So,” Edward gives in. “How was school?”

“Tests are coming up in two weeks,” Alphonse grimaces. “I’ve got an essay too.”

“That’s rough.”

“Anyway, I was looking up stuff for my essay when I came across this interesting book,” Alphonse goes on. “It talked about  _ deja vu _ — ever heard of that?”

“Hm?” Edward sits up. “I think I’ve heard Winry use the word. Isn’t it a feeling that you’ve done this or that thing before?”

“Yea.” Alphonse nods. “There’s a theory that the feeling comes from your past life.”

“You believe in that?”

On occasion, Alphonse would become fascinated with fictional ideas, and discuss them with Edward. While Winry laid claims to their personality based on whatever star they were born under — which Edward thought was utter bull — Alphonse scavenged ideas and then pieced together his own.

“It’s just speculation,” Alphonse huffs. “Anyway, the theory believes that memories from different lives can be connected.”

“And how would that work?” Edward frowns, inclining his head. “I mean,  _ if _ we really get reincarnated or whatever, won’t those memories just be discarded? That’s an awful lot of stuff, and it seems unfair to just know stuff from another life.”

“Well you’re right but-” Alphonse frowns, considering. “What if it was just subconscious? I mean, rather than  _ knowing _ something, deja vu seems more like a feeling. An intuition, in a way.”

“Why would you need something like that?”

“Maybe...to remember something you’ve learnt? Or like, to do something you weren’t able to do before.”

Edward hums thoughtfully. He nudges Alphonse with his foot.

“Al, you’ve deviated an awful lot from your essay, haven’t you?”

Alphonse makes a strangled noise.

“I can’t believe this,” Edward sighs, shaking his head dramatically. “My little brother, already a little delinquent. Maybe we’ll be forced to move back to the countryside when he finally drops out.”

“That’s not going to happen!” Alphonse kicks him.

“Ow! And you’re violent too!” Edward cries, incredulous.

Alphonse sits back, huffing.

”So how was  _ your _ work? Did you break the lab equipment again?”

“What do you mean  _ again?  _ I never broke it! Well...chipping off the top doesn’t count.”

Edward sighs, leaning back into his chair.

“Anyway it’s the same old. Though Izumi did say I’m getting more spot-on.”

Alphonse purses his lips.

“Bro, you could study too, you know,” he says. Then, a little more quietly, “dad would pay for it.”

“I don’t want him to,” Edward frowns, looking away. “Don’t wanna owe him anything.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” Alphonse protests.

“Because - we never know when he’d disappear again!”

And then there’s silence, and Edward knows he’s right. Hoenheim works as an archeologist, and spends most of his life travelling from site to site. Most of the time, Edward doesn’t even remember which part of the world he’s supposed to be in. They receive a letter and a generous allowance every few months, but Edward never knows when it might just  _ stop _ , just like when-

Trisha was sick. She had fallen ill, collapsing so suddenly. They were only kids, ten and eleven, then. He had tried, desperately writing to their father’s last address, for him to come home. But Hoenheim hadn’t sent anything for over five months, and Edward’s efforts came up empty.

Hoenheim only returned in time for her funeral, and Edward decided that he would never rely on him again.

So Edward  _ needs _ this job, even if their allowance can pay for the house and Alphonse’s school, and they still have some of their mother’s savings.

“Sorry.” Alphonse lowers his head, picking at his food instead.

“Don’t be,” Edward shakes his head, dropping the edge in his voice quickly. “Thanks for making dinner.”

It’s okay. He’s fine with this. Working at the lab isn’t bad, even if he’s just running tests for the hospital. He thinks a little, of Trisha.

\---

Al wakes up with a fever. Edward finds the silence strange, and then peeks into his brother’s room.

“Al? You’re gonna be late.”

Al is sitting up in his bed, hand pressed to his temples.

“Yea I know, just give me a bit.”

Edward strolls to his side.

“Hey, you feelin’ alright?” He asks, pushing back Al’s hair and feeling his head.

“You’re sick.”

Al shoots him a weak smile.

“Seems that way.”

“I’ll get you some medicine. Stay home and rest, alright?”

“Yea.” Al can’t even find the energy to protest, slumping back into bed quickly.

Edward brings him some aspirin and water, then seems to contemplate his options for the day.

“Go to work, I can look after myself,” Al says, reading his mind.

“...okay,” Edward concedes. “But call if you feel worse, alright?”

“Yea.” Al glances at the clock. “And you should go or you’ll be late.”

“Oh- right, shit,” Edward curses, hurriedly gathering his things and tearing towards the door. “I’ll make dinner tonight!”

“Looking forward to it,” Al calls back just as the door slams.

 

Edward had gotten Al sick once, when they were kids. It was a rare snow day in Resembool, where the snow had piled and piled overnight. Six-year-old Edward had been so excited at the prospect of playing that he dragged his younger brother out without a thought.

The other kids in the neighbourhood started a snowball fight, and Edward got involved. Snow was flying everywhere, hitting Edward in the back and his cheeks, trickling down his back. Then the older kids had a change of tactics, and decided to target the younger Elric.

Al was shivering when Edward finally brought him home. Trisha scolded him, and Al was whisked to bed. Edward felt guilt, a heavy seeping feeling that followed him even long after he had finally crawled into bed himself. The snow just fell relentlessly through the night.

 

After work, Edward drops by the supermarket.

_ What would Al like for dinner?  _ He wonders. Though Edward also wonders what  _ he _ can actually cook. They’ve been taking turns to do their chores for years, but Alphonse had always done most of the cooking.

Scratching his head as he continues to draw a blank, he decides to grab some macaroni, carrots and chicken and just sort of put them together in a soup. Alphonse can’t complain if he’s still sick.

Then as Edward turns away from the chiller, he catches - again, a familiar sight.

Pins and needles are in his legs again, and his throat constricts. Edward Elric is looking at the lookalike of his brother.

The man turns and looks him in the eye, wordlessly.

“Why the hell...again,” Edward mutters shakily.

It was supposed to be a dream, some figment of his imagination. Something he wasn’t supposed to see twice.

This time, they’re further away, and Edward feels like he’s looking at him through many layers of glass. It’s weird, how the thought stirs something melancholic in him.

Then Edward tears his eyes away, forcing his head down so hard he feels whiplash. He hears the sound of footsteps - approaching, and then passing him by. When he looks up again the man is gone.

 

Superstitions had been common when he had lived in Resembool, stories passed from one household to another. Trisha had known her fair share, though Edward never paid much mind to them. Ever since he could read, he had taught himself that the truth of what existed was absolute - that everything else was at best, someone’s imagination.

So Edward was a fearless child. He had walked defiantly over cracks on the sidewalk, and never wavered running past the town cemetery. He grinned his way through ghost stories and teased their neighbour and friend Winry, who often crumbled into tears. They were just stories, and they just weren’t real.

 

The lights are off when Edward gets home, and he finds Alphonse in bed.

“Al?” he calls softly.

The figure in bed stirs, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Oh, you’re home.”

Edward flicks on the light as he enters the room.

“Bro!” Alphonse yelps, covering his eyes as blinding light floods the room. “Give me a warning, jeez!”

“Ah, my bad,” Edward winces, strolling into the room. “Feeling better?”

“I think the fever went down a bit earlier.”

Alphonse still looks sick, and for a moment Edward thinks about the  _ other _ Alphonse. But he knows better than to tell him - the incident had been unsettling even to Edward.

“Alright,” Edward announces instead. “I’m gonna make dinner.”

“Okay, I’ll wash up in a bit,” Alphonse says with a weary smile.

 

Dinner is simple, just soup and whatever Edward thought would be nutritious.

“You’re getting better, Bro,” Alphonse remarks when he looks at it.

“Well, I’m going easy on you since you’re sick,” Edward retorts without missing a beat.

Alphonse scoffs, but only half-heartedly as he tries the soup.

“Thank you,” he says as the warmth spreads through his mouth. Edward huffs as he digs into his own bowl.

“It’s nothin’.”

There’s a pause as Alphonse eats, looking content despite the bland food.

“I wonder what it’d be like if we’ve stayed in Resembool,” he muses, suddenly a little homesick.

“Died of old age, probably,” Edward scoffs.

“Bro!” Alphonse can’t help laughing. “You can’t say that, Winry and grandma still live there!”

“Well, those two aren’t dying of old age anytime soon, that’s for sure.” Edward shakes his head, thinking of how the two were both the most talented and vicious mechanics in the country.

“Yea, we haven’t seen them in a while though,” Alphonse goes on. “Maybe we should visit.”

“Maybe,” Edward echoes non-committedly.

The train back to Resembool takes hours, an ordeal that Edward never fails to complain about, but - Alphonse feels they should visit. It’s hard to explain, but he still feels bouts of homesickness. Even if all they end up doing is cleaning up their old house, crashing at the Rockbells for dinner and putting flowers on their mother’s grave, Resembool is a home.

Alphonse’s eyes skim across the room, catching sight of Edward’s stack of library books. Edward’s interest seemed to go all over the place - quite literally. Last month, he had read up on places in the far west, and this time he seemed to have picked up an interest in the east.

“Have you read those yet?” he quips.

“What?” Edward raises an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh. Yea like, half of one.”

His progress was grim.

“What about you? What did you borrow, anyway?”

“Stuff for school, mostly,” Alphonse responds.

“Is it tough?” Edward asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Just a little.”

“A little? Oh, someone’s a smartass,” Edward jeers.

“Hey!” Alphonse swats at his brother, and pouts when Edward dodges out of the way. “I mean, I still feel like  _ you _ should be in university. You’re smart.”

The smile slips from Edward’s face and he purses his lips.

“Al, you’re one of the smartest guys I know,” Edward sighs, exasperated. “If anyone can get a degree or masters or whatever, it’s you. I know it.”

“...yea.”

 

Alphonse heads to bed shortly after dinner, and Edward stays to wash up. He picks up a book after everything is put away, flipping it back to the page he had stopped.

He reads for hours, only dragging himself to bed when it’s nearly midnight and his tired body begins to protest. The last light goes off in the room, and he catches the sound of footsteps along the corridor outside their apartment. Maybe their neighbour, Hughes, was working overtime again.

Edward yawns, burying into his pillow.

\---

The next morning, Edward wakes Alphonse up.

“Al, it’s morning,” he says, shaking his brother lightly.

Alphonse stirs, mumbling incoherently.

“Hey, you’re still kinda feverish,” Edward observes, frowning. “Maybe you should stay home today.”

“I’ll be fine,” Alphonse insists, pushing back the covers as he sits up. “I only have a few classes today, and it’s friday.”

“Okay…” Edward purses his lips, unconvinced. “I made breakfast, come get up and have some.”

 

Breakfast is quiet, but it’s nothing too far from the ordinary. They were usually too sleepy to chat much to each other. Edward watches his brother thoughtfully, still feeling an incessant worry despite his brother’s words.

Alphonse didn’t seem to have much appetite, he notices. He didn’t finish much of his dinner last night, too. Was he really getting better?

Then Alphonse rises from his seat suddenly, making for the bathroom in a frenzy. Before Edward can ask what was wrong, he hears a terrible lurching. Alphonse was sick.

“Al?” Edward crouches next to his brother, who was slumped over the toilet.

Alphonse’s shoulders are shaking as he breaks out in cold sweat. Edward rubs his back, hoping to soothe him.

“I’m taking you to the doctor,” he says.

“What about your work?” Alphonse asks weakly.

“I’ll just tell them I’ll be late,” Edward says, waving his hand dismissively. “Come on.”

Edward helps him up, but Alphonse’s legs crumble like jelly.

“Shit.” Edward catches him quickly before he can crash to the floor. He decides on a change of tactics.

“Bro, you don’t have to,” Alphonse protests as Edward crouches to hoist him onto his back. “Just give me a while and I can walk.”

But Edward’s always been a special kind of stubborn and Alphonse doesn’t have the energy to fight it, so he compiles.

Edward takes him to a nearby clinic, where a general practitioner looks him over. It’s uneventful, much to his relief. Alphonse just has a stubborn cold and an upset stomach. They collect some medicine and Edward takes Alphonse home.

“Call me if anything happens, alright?” Edward instructs as Alphonse crawls under the covers again.

“I’m just going to sleep,” Alphonse retorts weakly. “Nothing exciting.”

“Yea smartass, you know what I mean.” Edward rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” Alphonse mumbles as his eyes slip shut. “Go back to work, I’ll be fine.”

Edward hovers for a bit, restless, then eventually decides to head to work.

\---

The streets are empty when he heads out again, and it’s surreal to say the least. The city still doesn’t behave the way he expects it to, even though he’s been here for years. Edward ignores the lingering sense of disorientation and continues heading to the lab.

Somewhere along the way, he makes a wrong turn, and only realises when he ends up in an empty park.

He’s been walking to work for  _ years. _ Edward blinks in disbelief when he realises he’s lost.

“Shit, where is-”

And he’s there. The breath leaves Edward’s lungs, sudden and harsh. His blood feels cold, like the sting of ice cubes against hot, sweltering skin.

“Why do I keep seeing you?” Edward croaks, fighting to keep his voice steady. “And who the hell  _ are _ you? You’re not Al.”

The man shakes his head.

“I’m Alfons.”

Alfons. Edward doesn’t know how he knows the name as soon as it leaves their lips. Al is Alphonse. And  _ he’s  _ Alfons. He has a name, now.

Alfons approaches him.

“Was this where you wanted to be?”

The question catches Edward off guard.

“W-what?” Could Alfons know that he was lost?

“I’m- I was just going on a walk,” he lies, biting his lip. He was sure that even if Alfons didn’t have any supernatural gifts, he could see right through it.

Alfons stops next to Edward, reaching his hand toward him. For an inane moment Edward expects his hand to pass right through his own, but they touch. It’s not cold like he expects and not warm either. In fact, it seemed as though Alfons’ skin was attuned to Edward’s own temperature, and the contact was both foreign and indistinct.

Then Alfons withdraws his hand. He turns on his heel and starts walking.

“Wait!” Edward calls, trailing after him. “At least answer some of my questions!”

“You ask such difficult questions,” Alfons sighs, sounding somewhat exasperated. His expression remains impassive, emotions subdued under a carefully arranged face.

Edward isn’t sure what to expect of Alfons. Despite his uncanny resemblance to his brother, Edward learnt that his behaviour was completely different. Unlike Al, he was more composed, pensive and calm in a way that made Edward think he was much older.

“... _ you’re _ difficult,” Edward mutters.

Then Alfons smiles. It’s a small tug of his lips, a crease in his eyes, but genuine. Edward stops.

“This is what you were looking for, wasn’t it?”

Without realising, they’ve arrived at the street in front of the lab. Edward stares at it in disbelief.

“You should pay more attention,” Alfons says softly. “Edward.”

Edward whips around at the sound of his name, but Alfons had disappeared again. 

\---

Alphonse’s cold persists for days. He stays in bed most of the day as per Edward’s strict instruction, but his brother can’t help worrying.

 

They’re having dinner one evening, a simple meal that Edward had put together. Alphonse thanks him, and then remains silent as he eats.

So Edward digs around for something else to entertain him, and ends up lamenting about his colleague’s constant need to tell him excruciating details of his dates.

“Like, it’s so gross! I don’t even know if it’s the same girlfriend!”

Edward goes on, illustrating to him in greater distress how infuriating his colleague simply was. He couldn’t believe how he had the gall to ask Edward for gift ideas, and after he had reluctantly coming up with something, gets completely ignored.

Alphonse is still quiet, and Edward notices he has stopped eating.

“Not hungry?” He asks.

“Nah, I think I’m just gonna head to the washroom for a bit,” Alphonse responds, getting up. He still looks sick.

Then, as soon as Alphonse starts walking, he slumps to the floor.

Edward feels fear smash through his heart like a hammer, and he’s out of his chair and at Alphonse’s side in an instant.

“Al!”

Alphonse is paler than he’s ever been, and Edward is reminded vividly of  _ him _ .

He touches his brother’s shoulder. Heat seeps through his skin and clothes - Alphonse was running a high fever.

“Shit, you’re burning up again.”

Alphonse whimpers as Edward lifts him.

“Al, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

He’s so  _ weak _ , Edward thinks, fear pounding in his chest. Alphonse doesn’t even protest when Edward carries him, resting limp against his back. He can’t even tell if Al was still conscious as he makes his way to the hospital.

For a quiet, desperate moment, Edward prays.

 

At the hospital, he waits and waits. Hours pass in a restless flurry, waiting for a doctor, watching them take his brother’s temperature and then blood. He answers question after question, and the procedure just about saps all of his energy.

Finally, at the end of the night, Alphonse is admitted as they monitor his condition. Edward sinks into a chair outside the ward, dog-tired. Alphonse is asleep, so he should probably go home. He isn’t sure the hospital will let him stay overnight, even if he can’t bear to leave his little brother’s side.

And he’s thinking of Trisha. He knows it isn’t the same - it’s been years since the epidemic, but he can’t help worrying. He can’t lose Alphonse. He just can’t.

Edward glances at the time. It’s nearly midnight, but he thinks maybe she’s awake. It might do him good to talk to someone.

He drags himself off the chair, digs around for change in his pockets and dials the number into the phone.

It takes a few rings, and then the line connects.

“Hello? Hey this better be an emergency, ‘cause we’re closed and-”

“Winry,” Edward says.

“Oh. Woah, woah -  _ Ed?” _ She remarks in disbelief. “Is it snowing now? What do I owe such honour?”

“Winry,” Edward sighs, exasperated. He hasn’t called in months, and hearing her voice again calms him a little, even if she’s being obnoxious about it.

She sighs too, the exhale dragging through the line.

“I thought at least one of you would call home. I mean, I never have any idea how you guys are doing,” she huffs. “Like if you’re even alive.”

“Hah, yea sorry about that.”

“So...what’s up? You called because you had something to say, didn’t you?” Winry presses. “You don’t seem like a guy who’d call just to see if someone is fine.”

“Man, would you just let it go?” Edward groans. “Anyway, well…”

He glances around, acutely reminded of where he was.

“What is it?” Winry asks, suddenly sounding concerned. “Ed, is everything okay?”

“Al’s in the hospital.”

“What?” She exclaims, and Edward nearly drops the phone. Then Winry seemed to remember the time, and schools her voice into something softer when she continues.

“Is he hurt?”

“Oh- no, no he isn’t,” Edward says quickly. “He’s just sick.”

“Sick?”

Edward bites his lip.

“Yea, he came down with a cold a few days ago but wasn’t getting any better even after taking medicine. Then earlier he started running a high fever. He seemed really sick so I brought him here, and now they’re trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

“Oh…” Winry breathes. She sounds relieved that Alphonse wasn’t injured, but worried nevertheless. She pauses for a moment, considering.

“Ed, are you okay?”

“Huh?” Edward blinks. “Yea - I didn’t catch his cold or anything so-”

“That’s not what I meant,” she cuts him off gently. “You sound tired.”

“Oh.”

Edward remembers that he never finished dinner, and he’s been running about the hospital for the past four hours or so. He didn’t have half the energy he usually did, and Winry probably sensed that. Well, they  _ did _ know each other for years.

“Yea, I guess I’m pretty beat,” he admits with a weary smile.

“Should I visit? I think I could head down this weekend,” Winry muses.

“You don’t have to.” Edward frowns, knowing the trip takes well over five hours and was costly too. “And Al would be out of the hospital by then. I mean...I hope.”

He falls silent. It would be nice to see Winry again. Alphonse would be pleased to see her, and if he was still sick he would certainly feel better if she visited.

“I could still hang out with you two dumbasses,” Winry scoffs. “It’s been what - four months since we last met? The train ride is a drag but I can handle it.”

Edward smiles despite himself.

“If you insist,” he gives in. “Al would be happy to see you.”

“Oh he better be,” she remarks, and he can feel the warmth in her voice. “And  _ you _ better be too - I’m coming down as a guest of honour!”

“Yea, I’m  _ thrilled.”  _ Edward rolls his eyes, but grins. “Alright then, let me know when you’re arriving. Ah it’s getting late, I should go.”

“Okay, goodnight Ed.”

“‘Night.”

It’s half-past twelve when Edward hangs up, and he’s exhausted but at least the weight in his chest seemed to have eased. He might sleep, after all.

\---

When the weekend rolls around, Alphonse is still ill. His condition fluctuates, his fever breaking and then returning. Edward talks to him at times when he’s better, and reads silently by his side when he’s too tired to do anything but rest.

On Saturday afternoon, Edward heads to the station to pick up Winry.

He glances at his watch, playing with the pages of the paperback he had brought to entertain himself. The train pulls into the station, and then Winry herself emerges.

“Ed!” She waves, smiling.

“Winry!” He grins, rushing to meet her.

She all but throws her luggage at him.

“God, the trains are unbearable,” she complains, stretching and popping her joints.

“And you’re treating me like your slave already?” Edward adds, but picks up her luggage nevertheless. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch and then we can go visit Al.”

“Really?” Winry gasps. “Oh then-”

“But  _ I’ll _ pick the place,” Edward interjects, and she pouts.

“You miser!” She accuses, but Edward just laughs.

 

They make a stop at the Elrics’ apartment to drop off Winry’s luggage, then grab lunch at a nearby diner. Edward catches up with her, exchanging brief stories of the past few months. He tells her a little about his lab work, and then about Al’s time at the university. In turn, Winry tells him about her prosthetics work, and how grandma and everyone at Resembool had been. Edward feels a brief homesickness, and makes a note to visit his mother sometime soon.

When they finally head to the hospital, it’s early evening.

“Al, look who’s here,” Edward announces.

Alphonse sits up.

“Winry!”

Winry strolls over to his side, reaching a hand out to ruffle his hair.

“Hey there Al,” she greets affectionately. “How have you been?”

“A little under the weather,” Alphonse responds, grimacing. Still, he looks happy to see her. “What about you?”

Winry drags a chair over to his side, and they start catching up, too.

 

Eventually, Alphonse tires and Edward decides to let him rest.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Edward says, touching his hair. “Rest well.”

“You too,” Alphonse mutters. “See you.”

“See ya too.”

As they head back, Winry suggests dropping by the market.

“You’re gonna cook?” Edward looks at her, incredulous. “Aren’t you tired at all?”

“Not  _ now,” _ she rolls her eyes, and adds, “and not for  _ you,  _ for Al.”

“Oh, wow!” Edward all but exclaims. “I paid for your lunch and this is how you treat me?”

“Well, I figured Al’s probably sick of hospital food,” Winry continues, ignoring him as she peers at the market stalls. “And you haven’t cooked anything for him, have you?”

“‘fraid he’d ask for the hospital food back.” Edward shrugs.

Winry laughs, and he gives a resigned half-smile. The truth was that Edward hadn’t been sleeping well, reading late into the night and getting up early after tossing and turning most of the night. Those nights, he often dreamt of playing in the Resembool countryside and coming home to their old house and their mother.

Edward continues to trail after Winry as she wanders around the market, picking out what to cook for Alphonse the next day. He picks up an apple, remembering how much Alphonse had adored the apple pies their neighbour had given them last month. Maybe if Gracia baked some again, he could take them to the hospital.

Then he looks up, searching for Winry again, and is suddenly reminded of a certain person.

Alfons. Al’s lookalike.

Fleeting as they had been, Edward remembers every encounter vividly.

“Ed, I’m done shopping!” Winry waves at him.

“Oh yea, coming!” Edward calls back.

They get takeout dinner and return to the Elrics’ apartment.

“Gosh, I’m beat!” Winry exclaims as soon as she drops the shopping on the counter.

“Yea, me too,” Edward admits, locking up after her. “You can sleep in Al’s room, since he’s not using it.”

“Okay,” she says, dropping her coat on a chair and pulling it out to sit. “Somehow I always expect this place to be a pigsty.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Edward retorts, taking up the other chair. “We’ve been cleaning up after ourselves for years, y’know!”

“Yea,” Winry huffs. “I guess it just doesn’t really feel like you guys have grown up sometimes.”

“Is that a jab at my height?” Edward frowns, narrowing his eyes.

“It is if you’re still so sensitive about it,” Winry says cheerily.

Edward groans, and then forgos the argument in lieu of actually eating. They eat in silence for a while, and his mind wanders back to his encounters with Alfons.

“Still worried about Al?” Winry asks suddenly.

“Huh?” Edward looks up. “Y-yea, I guess. Why won’t I be?”

“I am too,” Winry says. “But he’ll be worried about you too.”

“Why would he be?” Edward frowns.

“You look like there’s something bothering you.”

Edward opens his mouth and then closes it again. Winry waits, and he sighs.

“I don’t know how to say this but I’ve been seeing...things.”

He winces at how silly it sounds.

“What kind of things?” she prompts.

“I’ve been seeing this guy who looks like Al. Almost...exactly like him.”

“You mean, like a doppelganger?” Winry looks pale.

“Doppel-what? Wait, what’s that?” Edward starts, leaning forward in his seat.

“Doppelganger,” she corrects. “Like a lookalike or a double of someone.”

“I’ve been seeing a doppelganger of Al?” Edward frowns. Then he picks up on Winry’s grim expression. “What does...seeing a doppelganger mean?”

Winry averts her gaze, avoidant.

“Winry!” he presses.

“It means...that person is going to die.”

Edward feels the blood drain from his face.

“What the hell, Winry!” He yells, enraged. The chair tumbles out from behind him as he rises. “Don’t make that kind of joke!”

“I’m not making a joke!” Winry defends, hurt. “I wish I was!”

Then Edward slumps forward, pressing his hands to the table.

“Al can’t die, I can’t lose him,” he mumbles shakily.

“It’s just a superstition that I know,” Winry continues. “But the fact that you’re seeing it…”

Edward picks up the chair, falling back into it.

“How many times have you seen it?” she asks.

“About three times now,” Edward answers, reflecting upon each encounter. Now that he did, it began to occur to him that after each meeting with Alfons, Al’s condition seemed to coincidentally worsen.

“Did you talk to it? Like, interact with or acknowledge it?” she presses.

“I- kinda did, yea.” Edward winces, feeling horribly ignorant. He hadn’t had any idea of this, having blatantly avoided any tales or superstitions back in Resembool.

Winry inhales, slowly.

“What should I do now?” he asks in an uneasy voice.

“...I think you should ignore it,” she says eventually. “If you ever see it again, don’t talk or even acknowledge it. Maybe then it’ll disappear and...Al would be alright.”

“Okay.” Edward nods.

 

That night, Edward thinks of Alfons. If he really was a doppelganger of Al, did that mean he was just a reflection of his brother? The image seemed to match, at least. But Edward couldn’t help feeling that there was something else. Alfons seemed to know him, almost intimately, and in a different way than Al did. There was his behaviour too, mild and composed unlike his brother. If his image was created from Al, what about the rest? The name too - did Edward create it out of a need to set them apart, or had it really been his name?

There was also the more pressing matter that the appearance of Alfons meant that Al was going to die. Edward had to prevent that, no matter what.

\---

The next morning, Winry cooks a hearty meal of chicken, potatoes and carrots for Alphonse. She makes extras for Edward and herself, and they take it to the hospital.

“Oh and another thing,” Winry says before they enter the ward. “Don’t tell Alphonse about his doppelganger.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Edward frowns.

“No, I mean it,” she continues. “He can’t know about it. And don’t ever let them meet, either. If that happens...I don’t know if he’ll be alright.”

Edward shivers, knowing full-well what she was implying.

“Yea, I won’t let that happen.”

Alphonse perks up when they enter.

“Bro! Winry!”

Winry grins, holding up the food.

“I thought you might be tired of hospital food, so I made something for you!”

She pulls out the desk, unpacking the boxes.

“Oh yea, I let Winry stay over in your room since you weren’t using it,” Edward says.

“You didn’t ask him first?” Winry looks at him, appalled.

“Forgot.” He shrugs.

“I didn’t touch anything in your room, I promise!” Winry assures, turning back to Al.

“It’s alright,” Alphonse replies, smiling. “I don’t have any ugly secrets like bro so I don’t have to worry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Edward turns back to them, glaring.

Alphonse and Winry both burst out laughing.

“Jeez, you guys are always bullying me,” Edward scoffs, folding his arms.

Alphonse seems better today, and they keep him company for hours until the late afternoon, where Winry has to catch her train.

 

“Maybe Al will be discharged before you get back to Resembool,” Edward says to her as they walk to the station, hopeful.

“I sure hope so,” she laughs, thinking of the long trip back.

“Anyway, thanks for coming by.”

“Oh, were you glad to see me?” Winry teases, nudging him playfully.

“I’m saying it for Al,” he deflects without missing a beat. “For coming by to visit him.”

“Right, besides I like him more,” she shoots back. “Anyway, you guys should visit sometime when Al’s better.”

“Yea, I’d think about it,” Edward shrugs dismissively.

Then her train pulls into the station and he’s waving her off. They really should visit. He misses Trisha.

 

Edward hangs around the station aimlessly after she’s gone, suddenly forgetful. He just had dinner, so maybe he should head home for the night. He could go back to the hospital again, maybe he could ask the doctor about Al.

As he settles on the latter and starts heading back, he catches a familiar figure on his left. Edward almost turns before he realises-

It’s  _ him. _

His heart pounds, fearful, and he ducks his head.  _ Don’t look, don’t look, _ he reminds himself. They had never been confrontational, so Edward should be able to pass him by without incident.

Al would be alright.

 

Edward gets to the hospital, walking quickly to his brother’s room. He passes by clinics and waiting lobbies, the corridor outside Alphonse’s ward that was always empty-

He stutters when he catches sight of blond hair. Sitting outside on the chairs just opposite the door to his brother’s ward, the papers resting in his lap.

Edward rushes into the room.

He feel something foreign, like getting home from work early or walking into his mother’s room when she had stopped living there. He doesn’t want anything to be wrong, but the sensation is so distinct that it feels like an intuition.

Alphonse is lying in bed, seeming to have just awoken from his sleep.

“Bro?” he calls out.

“Hey Al,” Edward says, shooting him a smile as he approaches. “Just sent Winry off so I thought I’d come back to see how you were doing.”

He expects Alphonse to tell him to go home, or to say something about being discharged.

“I had a dream of mum,” he mutters instead, staring up at the ceiling.

Edward blinks. Alphonse turns to him, golden eyes staring.

“Do I have the same sickness?”

The words send his chest caving in. Edward shakes his head feverently.

“No, no of course you don’t,” he assures quickly. “It’s been years, the virus cleared up.”

He presses a hand to his brother’s head. He’s burning, again. How many fevers had he ran this week?

“I want to get better already,” Alphonse whimpers. “I miss mum.”

Edward strokes his hair, hoping it would at least be a little bit soothing. Al had been sick for way too long.

“You will,” he tells Alphonse. “I’ll make sure you do.”

He thinks of the double outside the room, an existence that lingered like a curse. Why did he have to appear?

\---

Alphonse continues staying in the hospital. A list of worrying conditions is named for Edward. He didn’t have a damned paper, or any damned idea of how he could help.

So Edward just pleads to the doctors, desperate.

And Alfons continues to appear, no matter how he tears his gaze away.

 

One evening after work, Edward decides to bring some fruits to the hospital. Alphonse’s stomach had been ill as well, so there wasn’t much he could eat. So he thinks maybe, some fruit would be nice.

“You didn’t bring the books I asked for,” Alphonse notes as soon as Edward enters the ward.

“You shouldn’t be studying,” he frowns, disapproving. “You’re sick.”

“I’ve been sick for too long,” Alphonse sighs. “I’m not gonna be able to take the exams, am I?”

“You’ll catch up,” Edward says, pulling up a chair beside his brother. “Just get better first.”

“I know,” Alphonse responds, brows furrowing in distress. “I know, I just-”

Edward drops a few paperbacks on his desk.

“They’re not textbooks,” he explains. “I picked them out so I’m not sure if you’d like them, but you could read a bit if you’re bored.”

Alphonse stares, and then reaches for the books. They were various novels - a mix of mystery and science fiction. Alphonse hadn’t read any fiction for a while, but his brother had remembered the genres he used to pick. They were mostly short stories too - Alphonse thought maybe Edward was aware he had trouble focusing, and at least he could finish some of them this way.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Do you like them?” Edward quips.

“I don’t know if they’re any good yet.”

Edward smiles.

“Well I got them from the library, so if you don’t like ‘em I could do an exchange.”

Alphonse chuckles. He sets the books aside, deciding that he could start on them a bit later.

“Did you bring anything else?” he asks, hopeful.

“What am I, your fairy godmother?” Edward grumbles, but only to be theatrical. Still, he produces a bag from the market, pulling out a rosy red apple.

“Want me to cut this up for you?”

“Oh what, you didn’t bake it into a pie?” Alphonse pouts playfully. Edward shoots him a look.

“If I  _ did, _ you won’t be able to eat it.”

“I guess this is safer then,” Alphonse shrugs.

“Come on, pass me the tray so I can cut it,” Edward says, reaching for Alphonse’s dinner tray.

Alphonse hands it to him, and watches him produce a fruit knife and begin splitting the apple into slices. In truth, he wasn’t very hungry and he doubt he could eat more than a few slices. But Edward was trying, and he suppose he could at least cooperate.

“There!” Edward exclaims, looking pleased with himself.

Alphonse picks up a small slice, bringing it to his mouth and chewing it slowly. Edward picks up a slice too.

After a bit, Edward notices that Alphonse has stopped, again.

“Eat a bit more, you’ve barely had any,” he encourages.

“I don’t really feel well,” Alphonse admits.

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly.

Edward moves the plate away.

“Nah, it’s fine. I just thought it might be easier on your stomach or something,” he says gently, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But-” Alphonse protests. “Because of me, you-”

“It’s  _ fine,” _ Edward stresses, sighing. “I know this whole hospital thing sucks but I’m your big brother y’know? I’m supposed to take care of you.”

Alphonse bites his lip, and nods. Edward ruffles his hair.

“I’ll go wash up, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Edward picks up the plate along with the used knife, heading to the washroom. He can’t stand to watch Alphonse like this. The bright, lively energy of his brother being replaced by quiet and constant lethargy.

If only, if only he could do  _ something. _

 

Edward enters the washroom, a single cubicle with a full set of a toilet and sink, locking the door behind him. He pushes messy pieces of apple core into the wastebin and rinses pulp off the plate. Next, he runs the fruit knife under the tap. The silver blade gleams under the water.

He turns, reaching for paper towels when-

Edward sees  _ him. _

Fear drives into his heart, sharp and jarring. Alfons is standing before him again, too close to turn away, to  _ run- _

“Why do you keep appearing?” Edward croaks, heart stuttering.

“Edward,” Alfons says. Beneath the composure, he sounds hurt.

But Al -  _ Al was going to die. _

In a seething rush of adrenaline, Edward holds out the knife.

“Why won’t you disappear!” He cries out. “What do I have to do to make you go away?”

His hand is shaking, and when he takes a step forward the knife slips like glass, scraping his elbow as it clatters to the floor. The scalding energy rushes out of Edward, leaving a cold and nauseating emptiness in his stomach.

He couldn’t do it, even if he thought it.

“Edward,” Alfons says again. “You’re hurt.”

Edward glances at the cut on his elbow, feeling a distant sting. Alfons touches his arm, pressing a square of paper towels against the wound. Blood seeps into the paper, a slow smear of red.

“What do I have to do...” Edward starts slowly as his vision clouds against his will. “What do I have to do to save Al?”

Alfons remains silent.

“Who  _ are _ you?” Edward continues, looking at Alfons. “Are you just someone -  _ something _ borrowing his face? Are you here to kill him?”

He jerks his arm away as if his own words had jolted him awake.

“I had a wish,” Alfons explains. “A wish to build a dream with a person. But in the end, it could never come true.”

“What are you talking about?” Edward frowns. He feels as if he is trudging through his consciousness, swimming in a sea where the answers he sought remained too deep to reach. “You’re someone I-”

“I left some selfish words behind,” Alfons continues, lips pulling into a sad smile. “I didn’t mean to, but it must have been burnt into my memory, and became a burden to you.”

The words stir something in his heart, heavy and melancholic. He should be able to remember it; it feels  _ important, _ but somehow he just can’t. Edward stares at Alfons as his mind races, coming up empty and empty again.

Then he holds out his hand, feeling the cold press of layers and layers of glass between them. It’s the only memory his mind supplies. His heart sinks, but he doesn’t know why. Alfons just looks at him, decades upon decades of secrets trapped behind silence. And Edward knows, then, that he really didn’t mean to.

When surface tension breaks and a tear tumbles quietly onto the floor, Edward blinks and Alfons disappears.

 

He stumbles back to Alphonse’s room in a haze. His legs move on muscle memory, passing by rooms and patients and nurses without registering any of it. The world moves pass him as he walks in a dream.

When he pushes open the door, his brother glances up from his book.

“Bro? What’s wrong?”

Edward blinks, and the dream dissipates. His senses awaken, the stark green on the walls and the sting of disinfectant rushing into awareness all at once. He reels a little and braces against the bedside table, setting the washed plate and knife down with a clatter.

“You were taking a while,” Alphonse continues, worried. “Did something happen?”

He knows he can’t tell Alphonse, long before he even opens his mouth. Winry’s words had never left his head.  _ He can’t know of his doppelganger. If that happens, he might die. _

Edward should’ve been braver. Less hesitant, or even just reckless. Instead, reality crashes down on his shoulders.

“Nah, just spaced out a little.” Edward shakes his head. He notices the book Alphonse had been reading, now marked with a small card.

“Oh, how’s the book?”

Alphonse frowns, knowing he was clearly deflecting. Still, he decides to let him.

“It’s alright,” he says. “Some sci-fi stuff about time travel and parallel worlds.”

“Sounds interesting,” Edward hums, picking up the paperback.

_ A scientist defies god, _ the back blurb reads.

“Yea, it must be your lucky one. I’m sure the rest of them suck.”

“My plan was to get you only one good one, because you’ll only stay here long enough to read one,” Edward retorts, folding his arms.

Alphonse rolls his eyes, but the sentiment puts a smile on his face. He returns his attention to Edward’s weary state.

“You should really head home and sleep.”

For a few moments their eyes meet, Alphonse staring and Edward resisting. Then the older brother sighs, unfolding his arms.

“Yea, I think I will.”

He pauses, lingering by Alphonse’s side. In a sudden rush of sentiment, Edward leans down and pulls his brother into a hug. Alphonse stiffens, surprised, but relaxes and returns the gesture. It was cathartic, in a way.

\---

The apartment is hollow, the shell of a heart, when he returns to it. For all the years he’d lived in the city, he had never felt this lonely. Edward sighs as he retreats to his room. He wants to sleep, but knows he won’t be able to.

The stack of library books sit on his desk, due in just over three days. He knows he won’t finish them, and he’s too tired to start. He reaches for the drawer instead, pulling out the letters stashed within.

Letters from Ishbal, Creta, even Xing on the other side of the great desert. They were from Hoenheim.

Edward picks out the latest one, addressed from Xing. He pours out the contents; a few pages of writing and several pictures. There were always photographs enclosed. Somehow, Edward thinks Hoenheim must have started the tradition because Al and him had been too young to read his letters. Now they were certainly old enough, but the photos still came.

He didn’t mind. Hoenheim always took photos of monuments or scenery from places he visited, though he rarely ever included any of himself. Edward liked looking at the photos — pictures of places far away, artifacts and buildings constructed by people of a distant culture and time.

He flips through the photographs of Xing. There was a grand palace, stone steps stretching out for miles and dragons guarding each corner of the roof.  _ Xing has an emperor, _ Hoenheim explained.  _ He would be the equivalent of our President. _

After that Edward had filled in the gaps with whatever he could find in the library. There was only so much Hoenheim could write, and the man was always brief with his words. Still, Edward holds the pages in his hands, following the trails of sentences with his fingers.  _ They are not as advanced with science, but have developed amazing natural remedies. _

Edward sits up. He grabs a pad of paper off the side of his desk, throwing it open like electricity was burning him. He takes hold of the nearest pen, holds it poised before the page and-

Nothing.

_ Al is sick. He’s in the hospital. _

Nothing; Edward doesn’t want to say anything.

_ When the hell are we going to see you again? _

He had written, when Trisha was dying. Alphonse had cried, begging Edward to write letter after letter to their father. He doesn’t remember half of what had been on those pages.

Edward closes his eyes, washing down the memory.

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits when a knock comes at the door.

Edward stares in the direction of the hall, blinking through the darkness. He gets up slowly, flicking on the lights as he drags his tired body to the door. As his hand touches the latch he pauses, considering that it might be his imagination.

_ It’s fucking past midnight, _ his mind supplies.

But he swears someone is there, even though he doesn’t hear another knock come. It can’t hurt to check anyway, and he pulls open the door.

Alfons stands in his doorway.

He stares, like it’s an instinct now. But Edward doesn’t feel fear or uneasiness curling in his gut, like all his emotions had burned away. A strange, serene mood settles over him.

“Will you let me come in?” Alfons asks.

Edward steps back.

“Yea, I guess.”

He turns on his heels, walking back into the apartment. After a few steps, he glances over his shoulder. He half-expects Alfons to be gone, but he lingers at the edge of the house.

“You can come in.” Edward frowns.

“Thank you,” Alfons says and this time, follows after him.

Edward leaves the lights off and the curtains open, letting sheer moonlight into the room. He drops onto the side of his bed and Alfons settles beside him, quietly.

“Are you lonely, being in this house by yourself?” He asks.

“What’s your guess?” Edward laughs bitterly. “Y’know, I used to bully Al when I was young. I was always mean for no reason and made him cry, but in the end he would still want to play with me. I guess because we lived in the same house, it was like always having a friend.”

Alfons listens, quiet.

“I used to think being a big brother was a pain. Mum was always telling me to be nice to Alphonse, to take care of him and all that jazz. And I don’t think I ever did any of it, but he loved this stupid big brother anyway.”

Edward pauses, feeling a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, he can be pretty mean to me now though, it’s like he’s got an attitude.”

He laughs, turning to Alfons. The moonlight washes out his skin, and his eyes look more grey than golden. Edward’s smile wavers.

“He’s still my little brother.”

He says it softly, but the weight of the words sink upon his shoulders. Alfons meets his eyes — his brother but not quite, a double but not quite. Without thinking, Edward touches his hand. The contact is underwhelming. It was skin, but neither warm or cold, almost like Alfons was nothing. The epiphany comes to Edward slowly, like the drag of water over sand.

“You’re not alive.”

Something in Alfons crumbles, though physically it was only the crease of his eyes and the knit of his brows. Edward feels it. He closes his fingers around Alfons’ hand.

“Who was I to you?” He asks. “You don’t seem to act like my brother. Were we friends?”

“Something like that.”

“You said you left words behind. What were they?” Edward continues, pressing.

Alfons shakes his head.

“You...can’t say?” Edward guesses, disappointed. Alfons nods once.

Edward purses his lips, reconsidering.

“Then, was I the reason your wish couldn’t come true?”

Alfons looks surprised, eyes widening. Then, he eases back into sobriety, bringing a small smile to his lips.

“Edward,” he says, turning his palm over to take hold of Edward’s hand. “Please don’t dwell on this.”

Edward bites his lip, visibly upset.

“It’s late, you must be tired.”

Alfons releases his hand. Edward feels his head grow heavy like the drag of weariness had suddenly grown tangible. It pulls his body down and he sinks to the bed, laying his head to rest against Alfons’ lap. A hand combs through his hair, tugging off his hair tie.

“Alfons, is this retribution?” Edward mutters, fighting to stay conscious. “There has to be a way to save Al, right?”

“If it’s retribution,” Alfons says softly. “Then I must be the one who had invited it.”

He touches Edward’s head and the world slips out from beneath them.

\---

Edward wakes up with his head on a pillow and a blanket over his shoulders. He sits up slowly, disorientated. Had he dreamt up the whole thing? He doesn’t recall going to bed. Distantly, he knows he has to go to work. He had been taking sporadic leaves from work to look after Alphonse. 

But as soon as he steps out of the house, something propels him towards the hospital.

Edward walks briskly, already trained by muscle memory. He stops outside Alphonse’s room. Something heavy sits in his chest, but it isn’t until he opens the door that it drops.

The curtains are blown open, fluttering like sails at sea. The sun sits low behind the clouds, hidden despite the time of the day. Time stops.

Edward sees double.

Alphonse lays asleep in bed as his doppelganger, Alfons, stands before him.

_ They can’t meet. Al can’t see his double; if he wakes up — _

“No-!” Edward charges into the room, bodily putting himself between the two. Grief trembles through him, fear in a tangible form. He stares at Alfons, pained.

“You can hurt me, but don’t you dare touch my little brother!”

Alfons frowns, distressed.

“I’m not free to act on my personal will.”

_ Fucking laws, _ Edward thinks, mind racing.  _ I barely understand it but there’s some stupid law about his and Al’s existence. He thinks there’s nothing he can do but- _

“You’ve done it before.”

Alfons widens his eyes in surprise.

“You’ve fucking done it before,” Edward pushes on fiercely. “I don’t know the details but you’ve done something — and I probably have too — so we can see each other, isn’t it?”

“Edward…”

“If God or the world hates me, then so be it! I’d suffer in a hundred lifetimes if Alphonse — if Alphonse and you can be happy.” He pauses, clenching his jaw. “Because what kind of older brother would I be if I couldn’t even do that?”

Alfons closes his eyes, a resigned smile crossing over his face.

“You’re always so unbelievable, Edward.”

For a moment, Edward sees a hundred lifetimes in the past. He sees a city in the desert, science that worked like witchcraft and metal ships taking off into the stars. There’s pain in his chest, of the pain of blood running and the pain of grief, deeper than he could name. He feels it a hundred times over as he fights, lungs and heart hurting, to the surface.

\---

Edward wakes on the side of a bed, blanket scrunched against his nose. He sits up slowly to see his brother, Alphonse, stir from his sleep.

“Alphonse?” He calls softly.

“Bro?” Alphonse answers sleepily, rubbing his eyes. “How long was I asleep?”

“I’m not sure, sorry,” Edward says gently. He feels like he had woken up from a long, long dream.

“The doctor said I’d be discharged today, if I feel alright.”

“Today?” Edward blinks.

“Yea, I’ve been here for two days. Stupid stomach flu, remember? I almost threw up on you.”

Edward still feels confused.

“You’ve been asleep too long,” Alphonse sighs. “If you keep sleeping here you’ll get a stiff shoulder again.”

_ Again? _ Edward looks down at his-

Prosthetic arm. Because he had lost it in an accident. The fingers move, slow and jerky, the metal joints straining against each other. It’s been this way for the past seven years, but he still  _ remembers _ having a flesh arm.

“Bro?”

Edward looks up. Alphonse frowns at him.

_ It was a stomach flu, _ Edward thinks.  _ It’s not like he was going to- _

Strange, something wells up in his chest. Without thinking, Edward wraps his arms around his brother, pulling him towards his chest.

“What’s wrong?”

Edward doesn’t say anything, and Alphonse doesn’t ask again. He feels heavy with the weight of something he can’t name. Then as soon as he pulls away, it leaves him. Edward remembers that Winry is going to visit for the first time in months. Alphonse is taking his exam in two weeks.

Edward sits up, turning to the television in the room. It broadcasts a documentary on aeroplanes claiming that they travel at an incredible speed, a scientific miracle that allowed man to soar in the skies. But Edward knows, somehow, that rocketships are even faster, tearing into the skies and making true of dreams among dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of ideas in this fic are abstract, so I can only hope to portray them that way. But I'd be happy to discuss anything if you found it interesting!
> 
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